Not everything we do needs to be archived. Not everything we exist needs to be documented. Not everything we makes needs to be seen. Not everything we think needs to be written. -heterogeneoushomosexual
"[On] 'poems that are more like poems'... There is something really important that happened for me when I began reading work that I couldn't fully understand. There was a resistance in me initially, and there was a kind of giving-in that happened that was really important for me as a poet, and it freed-up a lot of space around what I was allowed to like and desire and engage with. There is a work that poetry did around freeing up that space around language and allowing me to like some weird stuff that wasn't legible to everyone (including myself). So, that's a type of poetry that I think should exist in the world. I don't expect everyone to like it, but I do."
— Raquel Salas Rivera, in conversation with Candace Williams
But now, using GPS, we’ve interrupted that old rapport between our bodies and the earthly sensuous. We’re no longer noticing the patterns of the place we are in, registering the sounds and the smells and the shape of various landforms as we pass them—because we’re synapsed to the smartphone, taking directions from a device that’s taking its directions from a complex of thirty-two satellites orbiting the earth twelve and a half thousand miles above our heads! We no longer know where we are anymore without GPS to tell us; indeed, we no longer really inhabit our places, since we spend so much time living via satellite. That is painful, and sad—the forfeiting of something so primal, so precious, so intimately a part of us that we hardly notice it slipping away.
Sadder still, by using GPS we no longer experience the delicious delirium of getting lost in the woods or the mountains. And so we no longer experience the great heightening of our animal senses, the keen synaesthetic attention to the land’s every nuance and subtlety that is triggered by getting lost.
wrap your tongue around the way
fire erupts, hisses, and sizzles
look beyond stars and
the shouts of children dancing at dusk
twilight empties the sky like fermented fruit
we root through compost
you are light that fills light